


Slot

by yeaka



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:15:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26799421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Connor got a new part.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 6
Kudos: 92





	Slot

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Thanks to pallidvixen for the ‘bun’!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Hank’s flushed an angry red-pink right to the tips of his ears, eyes dilated to their limits, mouth wide open and panting so hard for breath that Connor’s _almost_ worried. The skin on the very ends of Connor’s fingers is peeled back, just gleaming white plating, and if Hank were an android, they’d already be interfacing—Connor would be diving as deep into Hank’s mind as he has into Hank’s body. But they’re two very different creatures, so Connor has to settle for monitoring Hank’s health by the throb of his heartbeat. Connor can feel it under his hands, hear it ringing in his ears, every one of his sensors attuned to _Hank_. A criminal could burst through the window right now and steal everything in Hank’s house, and Connor wouldn’t even notice, because every last bit of processing power he has is currently devoted to this: to fucking Hank as hard as he can. 

He drives into Hank’s rear with as much force as he can muster, wracking another strangled moan out of Hank’s scratched-raw throat. Hank’s head tilts back in the pillow, one hand shooting up to clasp the headboard, the other digging into Connor’s hip hard enough to leave a bruise. Connor lets his synthetic flesh purple under Hank’s blunt fingernails. He could heal over, of course, but he doesn’t want to be pristine, not right now—he wears Hank’s hickeys with pride. His back is probably painted with dozens of scratches that he’ll keep until his next reboot. It’s all part of the experience. He’s gained so much more with Hank than CyberLife could have ever given him. 

Hank runs down to squeeze his thigh and groans, “ _Connor_ ,” drawn out and broken off. Connor _loves_ that sound. He shouldn’t love anything, but he does, adores Hank so much, finds such pleasure in the way Hank stutters out the syllables without the perfect precision that Connor’s android brain and vocal chords always give Hank’s name or an endearing nickname or even just _Lieutenant_. There’s something so wondrously _flawed_ about his human partner, and that just makes it better, because there is no other model in the world like Hank. The coarse hairs scattered all over his chest, tickling Connor’s palms, are naturally randomized. The extra weight, the thick flesh he’s pressed up against, is all uniquely distributed. Hank’s meaty thighs are spread wide over his lap, and Connor even loves the weight of them—how much _bigger_ Hank is in all things. Hank’s massive cock is rock-hard against his stomach, and Connor longs to worship that too, but he knows that Hank’s _only human_. The minute Connor employs his newly expert skill in that one certain area, it’s over. 

He still plays with other erogenous zones. He lets his hands rub over Hank’s breast, digging down into Hank’s nipples, feeling both rosy buds pebble against his palms—such a blissfully easy reaction. Hank reacts to the slightest stimulus. Then Connor thrusts into Hank’s channel at a slightly different angle, still hitting the exact right spot, and Hank _screams_. Connor didn’t think he had that much air left in him. His knuckles are white against the headboard. His eyes scrunch shut, teeth grit together, scraggly silver hair all but glued to his forehead. His entire body’s drenched in sweat, slick from head to toe, reeking of sex and raw _human_ : more vivid data overloading Connor’s sensors. He wants to lean down and lick the sweat off Hank’s chest, but he’s found the perfect angle for his body and doesn’t want to stray too far from it. This program is working brilliantly but still new, tentative—Connor wasn’t built to be a Traci. He had to order the parts separately. The download took all night. He spent considerable time tweaking it, adjusting things for Hank’s body type and preferences, already having some idea what his beloved lieutenant would want. And now it’s paying off—Hank seems to be enjoying the genital attachment and accompany protocols as much as Connor is.

Hank loved him without those things, of course. He said it was fine if they _never_ fucked, never even kissed, but Connor saw the look in Hank’s eyes and knew this would be appreciated. It was too cheap, too easy to pass up. And Connor’s so glad he did. He doesn’t care about having a dick himself, but he loves having it buried in Hank’s body, filling Hank’s channel to the breaking point. He ordered the largest one. He knew his darling detective could take it. 

He sees Hank’s hand fumble down his stomach, towards the leaking cock waiting there, and Connor does a quick scan, judging how close Hank is, how much more he can take before it gets to be too much—Connor’s been battering his prostate nonstop since they started. Connor could do this all night, all day—could fuck Hank _endlessly_ , powering down for short recharges every so often in between languid thrusts, but Hank wasn’t built solely for pleasure. Connor knows he has to come. So Connor benevolently reaches down and wraps his long fingers around Hank’s engorged cock before Hank can do it himself. Gratitude flashes through Hank’s half-lidded eyes. He looks so very _handsome_.

Connor is a very lucky android, and he knows it. He pays Hank back for everything he’s done for Connor in the special care Connor shows his cock—Connor strokes it with every trick he knows. He’s lubed up with Hank’s own sweat and precum. Connor swirls around the tip, plays with the foreskin, draws up and down in long spirals while his fingers squeeze ever so slightly, the other hand dipping down to cup and fondle Hank’s sac. There isn’t much room between them with Connor balls-deep in Hank’s ass, but he manages, ever-flexible. He braces his knees on the bed and fucks and strokes Hank to the same brutal rhythm, while he looks down at Hank with pure _love_ all across his face. Sometimes they’re not the best at communicating, but he hopes Hank knows how much Connor appreciates this, wants it every bit as much as Hank does—he may not feel sexual pleasure in the same way, but he still feels it, faulty programming or not—he wants to be _one with Hank_ and wants to make Hank feel so good that it’s too much to take. Finally, when Hank looks ready to burst, Connor bends down. 

He brushes his lips over Hank’s, barely making contact, and that’s the final straw—Hank cries out and comes all over both of them. Connor was right to remove his uniform. Hank’s seed drenches their naked bodies and splatters every bit of Connor’s chest while he faithfully pumps Hank out, still pounding into Hank’s prostate. 

He doesn’t have any cum himself to give. If he did, he’d happily fill Hank up with it, then clean Hank out afterwards, but all he can do is putter to a dry stop. It doesn’t matter. He has what he wanted. He feels just as wrecked and overwhelmed as Hank looks, just in a different way. His system’s flooded with information, lingering and doubling down on all his favourite parts—recording and memorizing the pattern of Hank’s laboured breath and the dilation of his pupils, the slickness between his legs from the lubrication, the weight of his balls in Connor’s hand—so many little things that shouldn’t matter but Connor finds _thrilling._ Hank’s the most exhilarating thing that’s ever happened to him. Even after Hank’s started flagging in Connor’s hand, Connor stays buried deep in Hank’s tight, fire-hot ass, not wanting to relinquish any contact. 

Hank looks up at him and weakly mutters, “Holy shit.”

“You approve of the new part, then.”

Hank snorts. It goes without saying. They have the option to order more, try different varieties, but Hank seems more than satisfied with this one. Hank rolls his eyes up to stare blankly at the ceiling and mumbles, “Should call in sick tomorrow. If Reed sees me hobbling around with a limp, he’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

Connor curiously pinches one nipple, just to see Hank’s reaction to the stimulus—he hisses and swats Connor’s hand away. Connor absently pets the line between Hank’s pectorals and comforts, “You aren’t yet as affected by your advancing age as you think. Your gait is within normal limits.”

“I meant because you fucked me so hard.”

“Ah.” Connor honestly hadn’t meant to cause that kind of damage. A spark of pride flickers in him that he can’t explain—another anomaly to investigate at a later date. His program’s constantly evolving now—Hank seems to inspire new things in him every day.

Hank gives Connor’s hip a tired pat and grumbles, “Alright, love. Time to come out of there.” Connor understands and nods, reluctantly withdrawing from Hank’s channel. He drags a small portion of clear lubrication with him but nothing else. He’s tempted to watch the area for the next little while, observing the way Hank’s fucked-open brim flexes and tightens up again, but then he hears Hank yawn and knows that his place is higher up—in Hank’s arms. 

He should climb off the bed, wander to the washroom, fetch a damp cloth and come to clean his lover up. Hank’s seed will make an awful mess of both their bodies and the sheets tomorrow. But Connor’s long since downloaded basic house keeping protocols and should be able to handle it. 

The only thing he leaves the bed for is to turn off the lights. He knows that Hank prefers to sleep in total darkness, save for Connor’s peaceful sky-blue LED. 

Then Connor’s curling up beside Hank, as sullied and exposed as Hank is, and the last thing he sees is Hank’s weary smile before he powers down for the night. He’ll need all his systems at full charge for tomorrow morning, when he plans to fuck Hank right up to noon.


End file.
